Killing Fear (17 page)

She blinked rapidly. “You never tried.”

“Hell yes I did!”

Her jaw dropped. “Your idea of a fucking apology was pathetic! You accused me of bringing it on myself, that what I did naturally made you doubt me.”

“I never said that!”

“I guess you didn’t have to.” She turned from him. He went to her, put his hands on her shoulders.

“You read things into that night that weren’t there,” he said.

“Did I?”

“Dammit, Robin! I was wrong. I should never have—but I admitted that. Right then and there.”

“Some things you can’t take back.” She sounded so lost, so lonely. Will hated hearing her anguish.

“I—” What could he say? That he was sorry? Again? How many times could he apologize? As many times as it took for Robin to forgive him. It pained him that he hurt her, and he’d do anything to take it all back, but that was in the past. And right now, nothing he could say would take away the pain and anger that stood like a brick wall between them.

He turned her to face him. She was so close. So beautiful. Her eyes, damn, her eyes highlighted her kind and generous soul. How had he ever doubted her? How had he questioned her loyalty? Her honesty? Her love? He touched her jaw, her skin so smooth and flawless she could have been eighteen as easily as the thirty-one he knew she was.

His thumb skimmed her lips. A faint cry escaped her throat. Will remembered holding her that first time, when he’d taken her home after she came to him at the police station to ask what the police were doing about her friend’s murder. They’d gone to dinner, and had a few drinks, and she told him everything about RJ’s and her friend Bethany Coleman. She’d been drained, and he’d never felt so protective of a witness.

Now, he needed to touch her again. He bent, touched his lips to hers.

A hint of a kiss wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He sank into her like a dying man, thirsting. His hands found the nape of her neck, rubbed, held her, devoured her lips.

He’d get on his knees and beg her forgiveness if it would help, but maybe, just maybe, his kiss would be enough. His kiss would show her how sorry he was. His kiss would prove Will had never stopped loving Robin.

She gasped, not expecting him to touch her. To put his lips on hers. She wanted to give into him, to hold on and let him take her away to the moon as he’d done before. After Sean, it had taken her years to let a man into her heart. The one man she’d opened up to was this one, this cop, and he’d sliced her to the bone with one question.

“Did you sleep with Theodore Glenn? Are you next on his kill list?”

She put her hands up. Her heart wanted Will back, her heart wanted to forgive him, but her head knew the truth. That there would always be doubt in his mind. He hadn’t believed her then, when he’d claimed to love her. Why would he believe her now when they had nothing but regret and bitterness between them?

She’d done nothing wrong and he hadn’t believed her. She’d seen it in his eyes. Heard it in his voice. She couldn’t live with that shadow of doubt between them.

Using all her emotional strength, Robin pushed him away. There was nothing more that she wanted except to bring Will Hooper home with her. To have him protect her. Save her, not only from a killer, but from deep, numbing loneliness. Even with her business, her painting, with all that she did, she went home alone every night. The hollowness grew, and she was drowning in her empty life.

But Will Hooper was not the man she could allow into her world. Not again. No matter how scared she was, how lonely she was, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him get close.

He stared at her, his smoky blue eyes pained. They mirrored her heart. She swallowed. “You have the CD. I hired a bodyguard. You don’t need to come by anymore.”

He stayed silent for a long moment. The tension between them was palpable. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to hold her. She wouldn’t allow herself to flinch, to show even one iota of interest toward Will Hooper. He’d never know how much he’d hurt her, deeply, inside, where who she was mattered.

And she’d never show him.

“Glenn killed Frank Sturgeon. Early this morning.”

She sucked in her breath. She wasn’t surprised, but the reality stung. There was no love lost between her and Frank—she had never liked that man—but she’d never wanted him to die.

She nodded. What could she say?

“That’s it?” Will asked, his hands on her shoulders. She forced herself to be a stone.

He dropped his hands and said curtly, “You know the danger. You hired security. You won’t have to see me.”

He turned, walked away, and Robin held her breath.
Just go, Will. Please go.

He stopped, turned, and looked at her from the doorway. “I messed up with you, Robin. And no one is sorrier about that than me.”

Then he was gone.

FIFTEEN

Will agreed to meet Trinity late that evening at Bob’s Burger across from the police station. She’d spoken cryptically, essentially telling him she had additional information about her meeting with Theodore Glenn the night before. To say he was angry was an understatement—had she kept important information from the police?

He sat in the bar section of the bar and grill and ordered a double Scotch while he waited. He didn’t normally drink when working a complex case, but if he was going to sleep even a couple hours tonight, he was going to need something.

Chief Causey had called him earlier to tell him the Feds were on their way. Specifically, one agent by the name of Hans Vigo who had some familiarity with the case and was a criminal profiler. Causey had cleared it, and now Will had another partner.

Not that he minded, as long as Vigo was one of the good guys. The truth was, the FBI was hit or miss, depending on who they sent. Sometimes they screwed with the locals, sometimes they helped. At this point, Will could use an objective eye, someone who might be able to figure out where Glenn was hiding or who might be helping him—if anyone.

That Theodore Glenn seemed to have just disappeared irritated Will to no end. They had hundreds of cops in both the city and county on full alert for Glenn. His picture was plastered in all media outlets—television and newspaper. His parents’ house was staked out 24/7. The bulk of Glenn’s assets were in a trust administered by the court, but he still had enough resources available to him. By law, the court could only retain the amount necessary for restitution. The bastard was worth over ten million dollars plus whatever interest had accumulated. When he was put to death, the remaining assets after legal expenses and restitution would be given to his surviving family, in this case his parents.

Not that they would take much consolation in receiving the money. Not with both their children dead. Nor would Glenn’s money help their little granddaughter Ashley accept or understand the brutal murder of her mother. Her mother who had done the right thing and was now dead.

Where was Theodore Glenn right now? They’d sent officers to hotels and motels in the area, both cheap dives and upscale establishments. Glenn was a neat freak, Will couldn’t see him in a dive, yet his self-preservation was paramount and therefore maybe he
would
tolerate the filth. Maybe he’d learned to, being in San Quentin—one of the most decrepit prisons in California. They were talking about selling it, over four hundred thirty acres of prime California real estate right there on the San Francisco Bay.

There were nearly one thousand hotels, motels, and weekly apartments in San Diego County. Glenn didn’t have any friends left, the trial had killed most of the loyalties anyone may have had with him. But he was charismatic and Will didn’t doubt Glenn could talk his way into or out of virtually anything.

Look at Trinity. She was nearly convinced that Glenn hadn’t killed Anna. To what end? Will wanted justice, he wouldn’t want a killer to get away with murder, but he honestly didn’t believe that had happened in this case. The evidence was clear, but more than that, Will had faced Glenn and
knew
in his gut that Glenn had murdered those women. He was vicious, cruel, sadistic, and had absolutely no remorse for his crimes. He enjoyed the game, and playing with Trinity was just another game to him. A thrill. He’d pled not guilty to all four counts of murder, yet told Trinity he’d killed three of the four women. What was his angle?

What if he was telling the truth? The trouble with sociopaths is that you never knew when they were telling the truth and when they were lying.

The Feds were going through Theodore Glenn’s possessions and communications from the prison. If he had someone on the outside, the Feds would know about it soon enough.

I hope.

Will had no problem trusting the Feds in this matter. They were just as concerned about the escaped convicts as every jurisdiction in California and the rest of the country. Twelve killers—nine now, after the latest report—on the loose. To haunt their old hangouts, or to disappear?

The fact remained that most convicts were recaptured within thirty days. Glenn was now a cop killer and that put the chances of his arrest that much higher—only a small handful of cop killers were never caught.

Trinity was late. Will would be irritated if he wasn’t so worried about her. He pulled out his cell phone to call the cops watching her place—to make sure she was safe—when she walked in. She looked as tired as he felt, and made a beeline to the bar, sliding onto the stool next to him while kissing his cheek at the same time.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“A choice? You always have a choice.”

“You told me over the phone that you lied to me this morning. I could have you arrested.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t test me. I’m not in a good mood. You didn’t tell me everything this morning.”

“I couldn’t. Not then.”

The bartender came over and Trinity ordered a Diet Coke. After she was served, Will said, “What’s going on? I want the truth.”

“You brought Theodore Glenn into custody two days after Brandi Bell was killed. According to the arrest report, he’d been identified by an elderly woman who lived across the street from Brandi, and by Robin McKenna.”

“Are we going to rehash the case? All that is in the transcripts.”

“Bear with me, okay? This is important, Will.”

Her sharp brown eyes were serious.

“Go on.”

“So this Mrs. Tchtivski gives a relatively vague description of a suspect, and Robin McKenna pegs him as Theodore Glenn, a regular customer.”

“It wasn’t that vague.”

Trinity read from the report. “‘Over six feet tall with brown hair, maybe dark brown, and not fat or skinny.’ That’s pretty bare bones.”

“Robin had mentioned Theodore Glenn after Bethany’s murder. Glenn had been involved with Bethany and Robin felt something was off about him from the moment they first met. I didn’t hold much weight to that—a lot of those guys are creeps—but I quietly looked into Glenn’s background. Just to check him out. Corporate attorney, wealthy, owned a plane, a stunt junkie. He didn’t seem to fit. But—”

“Go on.”

“After Brandi was killed Robin told me about his relationship with Brandi, and how he came in the night after the murder and asked about Brandi. Something about the way he asked disturbed Robin. I showed her the sketch and she identified him. Even though the eyewitness
was
vague, with Robin’s identification I could petition the court for a mandatory DNA sample from Glenn. I couldn’t hold him past the seventy-two hours, but the lab was working on the DNA and we were watching Glenn. If I had a suspect in custody, the lab would push the DNA tests to the forefront.”

“But the evidence was thrown out.”

“Don’t fucking remind me. All the evidence from Bethany’s crime scene was contaminated. We could use nothing from it. When I had to let Glenn go it just about killed me. I
knew
he was guilty. But until Brandi was killed, we didn’t even know we had contaminated evidence.”

“What I need to know is how Glenn got away with killing Jessica Suarez.”

“You know that, Trinity. You saw the picture.”

“But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t know Frank Sturgeon had a drinking problem?”

Will closed his eyes and drained his Scotch. The bartender came over and nodded toward the glass. Will shook his head. He would not end up like his dead partner.

“What are you doing, Trinity?” he asked quietly.

“I’m trying to figure out what happened seven years ago.”

“Theodore Glenn killed four women, was convicted, sent to death row, and has since escaped from prison. What more do you want to know? What more can
help
anyone?”

“He said—”

“Theodore Glenn is a sociopath, Trinity. He’s a liar. You can’t believe everything he says.”

“But what if he’s telling the truth?”

“Off the record?”

“Of course.”

“We’re quietly looking into Anna Clark’s homicide. I can’t reopen it, not based on the word of the man who was convicted of her murder—a man who has now admitted to killing at least three other women—but I’m listening to you, Trinity.

“But,” Will continued, “digging into the past isn’t going to do either of us any good.”

“Finding the truth will—”

“Buy you a ticket to New York City. I get that.”

“You make my career sound evil, Will. That’s not fair.”

“I’m doing this on the QT, Trinity. I don’t want this on the front page until Chief Causey gives his press conference. Got it?”

She nodded. “All right. Off the record, Will. What did you know about Frank Sturgeon seven years ago?”

“Off the record?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Will? In the ten years I’ve known you—during the weeks that we dated—did I ever lie to you?”

“Well, there’s this morning.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t tell me everything.”

“I couldn’t.”

“And now you can?”

“Are you going to tell me about Frank?” she asked.

Will wanted to haul Trinity’s pretty little ass to prison and make her tell him the truth. He didn’t like these kinds of games.